Mulligan's Yard (40 page)

‘One of us should look for him,’ Sally said.

‘I’m frightened of the dark,’ replied Mary quickly.

‘You?’ Sally almost laughed. ‘Frightened of nowt, you. If your family were frightened of darkness, there’d be a lot less burglaries down in Bolton.’

Mary refused to be riled. What Sally had said was probably true, but Mary still didn’t like it. People had to live and—

‘I hope he hasn’t had an accident,’ said Sally now. ‘I’m not that keen on motor cars. I mean, you can tell a horse what to do, but an engine’s not the
same.’

‘No,’ replied Mary. ‘He could be in a ditch.’

That did the trick. Sally leaped from her chair, grabbed her outdoor things from a peg and dashed towards the door. She turned. ‘Mary?’

‘What?’

‘If he comes back, tell him I’m looking for him.’

‘Right. I’ll tell him to go and look for you while you’re out looking for him.’

Sally fixed a stern eye on her opponent. Mary didn’t realize it, but she was picking up a lot of Mrs Kenny’s words and mannerisms. The difference was that Kate Kenny, underneath the
witty comments, was a decent person. ‘You want to shut yourself in a drawer with all the other knives,’ commented Sally, ‘keep all the sharp edges in the one place.’

Mary offered a rather stiff smile. ‘I were only trying to cheer you up,’ she said, ‘take the edge off things, like.’ Even now, she could not resist goading Sally.

‘You’ll cut yourself, you will,’ snapped Sally, before leaving the house.

Mary felt as if she might be sick. She leaned over the huge kitchen sink and retched fruitlessly. Where was the key to the padlocked outside coal doors? And, even if she found it, would Daft
Harry and Dafter Jack be able to climb the steep chute?

She gave up the idea of vomiting and returned to the fireside. With no other options to choose from, she was going to have to sit this one out and deny all knowledge of her brothers’
predicament. Except – oh, heck. There’d be all sorts of crumbs and bits of jam on the other side of the door. And once Mr Mulligan opened it . . .

Mary, like the rest of the Whitworth clan, had one saving grace to her credit. To a man, all the Whitworths were excellent sleepers. She nodded, leaned her head on Mrs Kenny’s cushion,
woke with a jolt, wondered what was going to become of her. But the fire was warm and the chair was comfortable.

Within five minutes of Sally’s leaving, Mary Whitworth was fast asleep and dreaming of coal cellars, coal doors and keys.

‘There was a light, Gran, honest.’ Diane stood with arms akimbo in front of the fireplace. ‘In the woods, I saw a light. It flickered a bit, then it went
out.’

‘Don’t be daft,’ replied Ida. She was working on a difficult pattern, lots of slipped-over stitches, four colours and very fine wool. ‘I promised Amy this for tomorrow,
Diane, so I have to get on with it.’ She changed needles. ‘Look, there’s nobody in the woods this time of year and this time of night.’

‘I saw it, too,’ piped Joe.

‘Aye, well, you always see everything our Diane sees.’ Ida grinned at him. He was stronger, fitter and, at last, he was getting a bit cheeky. In Ida’s book, lads were right to
be on the cheeky side. ‘Put that kettle on, Joe. Mona’s been gone ages – I wonder where she’s got to.’

‘She’ll be talking,’ answered Diane. ‘She’s usually talking.’

‘Aye,’ replied Ida. ‘She’ll be gabbing away with Amy and Margot.’ Mind, there hadn’t been much gabbing today. Margot and Mona had sat there like a pair of
dummies, and Ida had felt as if she had been in the way. ‘In me own house, too,’ she muttered to herself.

‘Did you say something, Gran?’ asked Diane.

‘Just reading me pattern,’ lied Ida. ‘Make some toast, love, that fire’s settled nice now.’

Diane skipped about as if walking on air. She was unbelievably happy. Every morning, she rode in a motor car to school, then, when school closed, she and Joe walked down to Mr Mulligan’s
office to do a few jobs, shopping, sweeping up, dusting. They also got lent out to other folk, the butcher, the laundry where Mona used to work, a grocery in Deansgate. She and Joe were always
getting tips and extras like sausages, a pat of butter, bread. Life without stealing was wonderful.

She will come soon, will submit herself to me and to the Light, because all is ordained by a greater power, a plan devised before and beyond the scope of mere mortal flesh.
I see the fields of Texas, dry as dust and waiting for the rain. We shall plant ourselves here in the desert; we shall fertilize the barren place, shall bring life where all is brown and bare. I
see the wood as it begins to burn, bush of Moses resurrected from the word, from the Bible. Praise the Lord, for my moment is at hand.

Sally pushed the door inward. ‘Mrs Hewitt?’

‘Eeh, love.’ Ida put down her knitting once more. She had almost finished the second sleeve and could sew the item together in the morning. ‘It’s cold out,’ she
chided, ‘and black as hell. Whatever are you doing? Get sat down here now. Diane, pour her a cup of tea – she looks frozen to the bone.’

Sally sat and shivered.

‘What on God’s earth is Kate Kenny thinking of, letting you out on a winter night?’ asked Ida.

‘Gone to a funeral. There’s only me and Mary, and she’s up to something.’

‘Whole family’s up to something,’ Ida mumbled. ‘Who died?’ she asked, in a clearer tone.

‘A friend in Chester.’ Sally blew into chilled hands. ‘She said she’ll try to be back tomorrow afternoon some time, but she couldn’t promise.’

Diane pushed a cup into her friend’s cold hands. One of the best things about living in Pendleton was that Diane had made a friend of Sally Hayes. Slightly older and wiser than Diane,
Sally retained enough childishness to enjoy skipping, hopscotch, bowling a hoop and playing ball. ‘What’s happened?’ Diane asked.

Sally took a few grateful sips of sweet tea. ‘It’s Mr Mulligan – he’s gone missing.’

Ida pondered. ‘Is he not . . . you know . . . ?’

‘No, he’s not in the cellar, Mrs Hewitt. His car’s not at the house – he never came home.’

‘Well, he brought these two back at about a quarter to six,’ said Ida. ‘He had Amy in the car, because he always takes her home, too. Well, usually. Sometimes Camilla Smythe
does it if she happens to be in town.’

Sally took a larger draught of tea. ‘I don’t know what to do, I suppose I should go up to Caldwell Farm.’

‘Not on your nellie,’ replied Ida quickly. ‘The big house is just about halfway between us and the farm – you can’t go traipsing that far, Sally.’

‘But I can’t stop here,’ Sally moaned. ‘There’s her up there on her own for a start. She was in the kitchen with her ear up to the cellar door, said she was
cleaning. She never cleans when Mrs Kenny’s out, she just dozes or gets up to mischief.’

Ida sighed and shook her head. ‘I’d walk up with you to the farm, love, but it’s twice as far as the Grange and I might not get there. Some use I’d be if you had to carry
me.’

‘I’ll go,’ offered Diane.

‘No, you won’t,’ commanded Ida. ‘You’re stopping right where you are, lady, and that’s an end to it.’

‘But, Gran—’

‘No!’

Ida walked about a bit while she had what she called a good cogitation. There was nothing else for it, she concluded after two circuits of the small room. Sally wanted to get to Caldwell, while
Ida, too, was concerned about the whereabouts of Mona and Mr Mulligan. ‘Diane, go across to the shop and ask Mr Wilkinson if he’ll take me and Sally up to Caldwell Farm in his motor
van. Tell him it’s a bit of an emergency, like.’

Diane shot across the floor like a bullet from a gun.

‘And, lady,’ continued Ida, ‘you make sure you stop in here till I come back, look after Joe and put him to bed.’

‘Yes, Gran.’

‘And no chasing lights what aren’t there.’

‘Yes, Gran. I mean, no, Gran.’

‘I saw a light,’ said Sally.

‘Buckets of blood,’ sighed Ida. ‘Not you and all.’

‘Oh, it were just a little one,’ said Sally apologetically.

‘Where?’ asked Diane, her fingers clasped to the doorknob.

‘In the woods,’ answered Sally. ‘When I was running down the lane to the village. A long way back, it was.’

‘Hmmph,’ muttered Ida. ‘Better tell the army to come out, then. I looked and I never saw nothing.’

The expression on Diane’s face was little short of triumphant. ‘See, Gran, it weren’t just me.’

‘Me and all,’ called Joe.

‘Aye, you and all, as ever,’ replied Ida. ‘Forget lights, all of you. Joe, get ready for bed. Sally, drink that tea afore it gets cold.’ She turned to Diane. ‘And,
you, get going while the going’s good.’

Diane got going.

There was movement out there; he could not see it, yet he was able to sense it through the Light. It burnt strong and true in a glass-sided lantern on top of an old fruit box.
His strength was such now that he could create his own Light from a safety match, no need to carry it with him any more. His prayer was so powerful these days that he could breathe life into any
flame.

Two vehicles had driven back down from the farm and off into the dead of night. The third, Mulligan’s, he thought, had not made the return journey. So Mulligan was still up there with Amy
and the young one, the woman who belonged to the Light.

The first car had moved slowly away from the farm, while the second, probably a van, had been driven away at a very fast speed. Where was the devil Mulligan? What was he doing at this very
moment? Calm, Wilkinson ordered. He must remain calm while waiting for Margot. It might not happen tonight, but she would come soon, he knew that.

Grant me peace and quiet while I meditate, O Lord, while I prepare myself for the task to come. Bring your infinite peace into the space I occupy, allow me the power to follow my destiny. She
will come and I shall bring her to you and to the miracle. With her I can be a man, for you will show me the way.

In the seat of guardians she and I will reside, open to the sky and to your glory. In that land I shall make children. In that land, under the everlasting stars and planets, she and I will
live as one, guarded by your Eternal Light, the flame of Moses.

My task is plain, for you have shown me the path, Lord. The obstacles are clearing now, for it is time to stake my claim.

He praised the Lord once more, then carried on waiting.

Up at Caldwell Farm, things were still rather out of hand. Elspeth and her husband had gone to bed, the former upset by the scene in her kitchen, the latter after wearing
himself out in a fruitless search for the errant Eliza. Eliza, like her sisters, had spent her life walking in the woods, but had seldom stayed out so long in weather like this. She had seemed
odder than ever, and was possibly being pursued by police or by the bereaved family of Rupert Smythe.

James Mulligan was pacing about ceaselessly, Margot wept with relief in a corner, Mona tried to stay awake, while Amy, reeling from several shocks, simply stared through a window at nothing in
particular.

Camilla’s brother was dead; Margot had been made pregnant by the deceased, Eliza had seen him die, had possibly contributed to the event, Mrs Smythe was hovering on the brink of insanity,
while Amy herself was not feeling too stable in that department. Could life become any worse than this?

The winter night was black, illuminated by a mere sliver of moon that skipped in and out of high cloud. She saw James striding about, his reflection clear in dark glass, so she pulled the
curtains and swung round to face the room. ‘She can’t stay out all night,’ she announced, to no-one in particular. ‘She knows she’d freeze to death.’

‘I must go and find her,’ he said. ‘There could be a severe frost tonight.’

‘No,’ replied Amy, after a short rethink. ‘She won’t let herself get too cold, don’t worry.’ Her selfish sister was centre stage again, even when absent from
the scene. ‘I shall make some tea, then we can work out what is to be done.’

Margot got up. ‘No, Amy, allow me. I need to do something to take my mind off . . . things.’ She left the room, a handkerchief dabbing at the last of her tears. For all her surface
bravado, Margot was becoming upset by the thought of Rupert being dead, by the idea of her sister being involved in a killing.

In the kitchen, Margot set a kettle on the range, then sat at the large deal table. It was her fault. She had allowed Rupert to take liberties, and now he was dead. Perhaps he
had told Eliza what had happened, perhaps she had been cross with him. If Eliza had killed Rupert, she might have done it for her younger sister’s sake. Eliza had not known about the baby,
though she might well have guessed the extent of the affair.

The younger sister thought for a few moments. Eliza seemed cold and distant, but she might well have had deep feelings on this particular subject. ‘So now,’ whispered Margot,
‘if she dies out there in the cold, that will be my fault as well.’ She walked to the kitchen window and stared out at a thin layer of snow, at clouds high enough to allow the earth to
freeze solid. Something had to be done straight away, without cups of tea and conversations.

Very quietly, Margot took Elspeth’s coat, hat and shawl from a peg on the back door. She wrapped herself carefully, glad that the housekeeper’s girth warranted sufficient cloth to
cover the bulges of a mother-to-be. Silently, Margot crept out into the night, her eyes widening in a search for light. She would find her sister even if she had to search until tomorrow.

After five minutes, the empty kitchen was visited by Amy. She stopped dead by the table, eyes darting about, took in the absence of Elspeth s outer garments, the furious kettle on the range.
‘James?’ she cried.

Immediately, he was by her side. ‘She was making tea, so where has she—?’

‘Look upstairs,’ commanded Amy.

‘But—’

‘Just do it, please.’

When he had gone, Amy leaned heavily against a wall. What next? There were two of them out there now, one pregnant, the other a self-engrossed creature who would not have cared about Margot if
the latter had been at death’s door. Amy could only guess at Margot’s feelings just now, because pregnancy made women different, or so she had been led to understand. So Margot was out
looking for Eliza, who was possibly being stalked by the woman whose son she had been accused of murdering. Yes, Helen Smythe had been removed by her daughter, but she might have got away, was
surely mad enough to run riot until she found Eliza. What a mess. Amy had to admit to herself that if she had to choose which sister to save, her vote would go to Margot. Panic bubbled in her
throat. She took the kettle off the hob and placed it in the hearth.